


like a prayer

by cakecakecake



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Masturbation, Multi, One Shot Collection, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: a collection of porny one-shots for fe3h that do not include byleth.
Relationships: Catherine/Rhea
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	like a prayer

She doesn’t spend much time in the cathedral for a Knight of Seiros.

She used to, when she was first summoned into the brigade, when she had something to prove. It gave others hope to witness her presence there, instilled faith in them -- this young woman that nobody knew until Lady Rhea appointed her. Catherine would suppose that’s why she never liked being there very much -- it was all for show, for making a statement. She was grateful when she stopped needing to. Once the lot of Fodlan knew the title of Thunderstrike Catherine, she didn’t owe anyone else but Rhea. She didn’t need to show up in places she’d rather not be.

But it _is_ nice to be here now just because, and not because she has to. It’s quiet without the audience and passer-bys and ring of the choir. The pipe organ rests in the back chamber, whistling softly with the gentle howls of wind. The atmosphere is just a little eerie, and the stone statues make her feel like she’s being watched, but other than that. It’s peaceful, tranquil in ways that her own quarters are not. And while her own bed is much more comfortable than the wooden bench, she feels that she can imagine Rhea more easily here as she hastily fucks herself on her hand. 

She didn’t come here with this in mind, honestly -- she’d actually wanted to pray, or at least try to. Thunderstrike Catherine, renowned Knight of Seiros, can count on one hand the number of times she’s prayed -- really prayed. She thinks tonight would have been the fifth or sixth, but since she’s doing the opposite, she doesn’t suppose it counts. 

Maybe it’s not exactly the opposite -- mumbling words of affirmation and the Goddess’s name bear some semblance of invocation, she could give herself a little credit. But behind the words themselves, all that’s left is her filthy thoughts. She can’t even think of protecting Lady Rhea without turning it into something lustful. She doesn’t need to ask the Goddess to give her the strength for that; her own restraint is what she should really be praying for -- to keep herself from doing something stupid like pulling her into a confessional closet and screwing her silly. She’s doing this a lot, lately, fucking herself to satisfaction -- more so now that Rhea’s been rescued. Weird way to deal with relief, she supposes, but if she wants to maintain her restraint, she must do something to keep herself in check. It’s stupid, she thinks. She feels much like a hormonal teenager again, but there are some things that don’t change. 

She doesn’t know what she’s being so quiet for. There’s no one here, not even birds or cats. It’s quiet as the dead, but maybe the dead are who she’s being mindful of. Who knows how many souls could be with her here. Catherine would like to think they’re not judging her, at least. If they’re going to watch, the least they could do is protect her. She doesn’t fear much, but being caught indulging herself is just one of those things. She grunts, chewing on her bottom lip as she rubs at herself through the fabric of her shorts -- she refuses to touch herself bare, here. Not in this place. Just in case. 

She wonders what Lady Rhea would think of her, if she’d found her like this. Surely others have also sought indulgence here -- perhaps she’d even been here herself, doing the exact same thing. The notion stokes the fire burning low in her gut. Catherine thrusts her hips, heel of her palm digging into her center. Lady Rhea. Sprawled out on the pew, her magnificent cloak cushioning her, waves of seafoam hair tumbling down her back. She feels her shorts dampen. She quickens her pace, getting so lost in the feeling that she doesn’t hear the footsteps echoing through the church.

“Catherine?”

A voice pierces through the tangible quiet like a knife. Catherine whirls around with a yelp, shaken from her thoughts, mortified that the very subject of them has made herself present. Lady Rhea emerges from the shadows, her stride so smooth she appears to be floating. 

“Lady Rhea -- !”

The woman offers her a smile, bright and warm -- Catherine stiffens. The archbishop radiates heat, inviting and comforting, but she feels frozen under the glow of her eyes. However soft, they still manage to strike her, boring holes through her. She sways closer to her, half of her face concealed in the dark of the unlit chamber. 

“It is unusual to find you here in the cathedral,” she remarks, bemused. “What brings you here at such an hour?”

She straightens up, shifting uncomfortably in the pew. She can’t very well lie, but it isn’t lying if she just doesn’t. Tell the entire truth. She skirts around herself, shrugging. “I...well…”

“You look to be troubled,” she says with concern. “Please, tell me what ails you.”

She falls silent. Contemplative, stuck on how exactly she should go about explaining -- debating how much she can afford to explain. It would pain her too much to be completely dishonest with her, and yet this is neither the time nor the place to be confessing a secret of such a caliber. The minutes are passing fast, but Rhea pushes her no further, only stands patiently with her hands folded at her waist. Catherine chortles, finally thinking of a way.

“It’s just -- forgive me. It’s such a silly, juvenile issue. I think talking about it with you would just make me feel sillier.”

“There is no need to feel silly, Catherine,” Rhea shakes her magnificent head -- she doesn’t wear her regalia at this time of night, yet she still wears her circlet and capelet. The jewelry and tassels chime and sway with the movement of her graceful figure as she takes a seat next to her. “There are struggles we will continue to face no matter how old we grow.”

“Ha. I guess you’re right,” Catherine admits, feeling both comforted and uneasy with her presence right at her side. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind hearing me out, I could give you an idea of what’s going on…”

“Of course I don’t mind. I am happy to listen to anything you would have to say.”

“There’s someone I care about, deeply,” she starts vaguely, looking off to the tall stretch of the stained glass. “Someone I hold so dear that I just...can’t explain my feelings in words, because there are no words for what I feel. These feelings run so deep, they almost scare me.”

“Strong emotions can be very scary, sometimes.”

“Yeah. I’m not used to feeling this way about anyone -- it’s to the point where I can confidently say...I would do anything for this person. I worked really hard to be somebody that this person could be really proud of -- but sometimes I feel like I don’t exist.”

“You feel as though you are...being ignored by the object of your adoration?”

Catherine’s ears are burning. “I -- yes, actually. Like I’m standing right before her, but she’s always looking at someone else.”

She frowns, sorrowfully so. Deeply enough that Catherine can see the wrinkles of age around her mouth, on her brow. Funny, she’s never put much thought into it, but she must be so old. At least forty, maybe even older, although no one would ever guess just by looking at her. Maybe it’s through spiritual blessings that she retains her youthful beauty or some bullshit like that. It’s not like she ever really took the time to learn the powers of the Goddess, it could be a thing for all she knows. 

She knits her brow, waiting for her to say something else, debating if she should say something more until she realizes. For the first time in years, she is just looking at her. Lady Rhea is looking at _her_ \-- only her. Of course, right now there is no one _else_ to look at, but it feels as though she’s not just looking, but seeing. And it’s then that she figures prayers don’t really do much, because the strength she’d thought to pray for leaves her as she takes Rhea’s hands and moves in to press her lips against hers. 

It’s difficult, overcoming grief. They’d found her alive, yet she still finds herself dealing with loss. She hadn’t realized how hard it would be to be without her until she was gone for five years. The war was far from over, and who could say she wouldn’t be snatched from her grasp again? There was no telling how much time they had, what could lie at the end of the road before them. She may never get a chance. Maybe that’s why she let herself kiss her. Maybe if she kisses her, she can finally realize why it hurts her so -- her undivided attention for the Professor. What has the Professor done in the last five years to earn her love? Sleep? While Catherine was running across Fodlan to search for her? Digging her bleeding fingers in the rubble and carnage? There are some stains she’ll never scrub off -- shame is one of them. She can deal with more of that if it must come to it. 

Right now she just needs her to understand, and from the way she cradles Catherine’s face in her hands, it seems she does.


End file.
